wishes on the wind
by edmelon
Summary: perhaps if he plays he can ease their pain. two-shot
1. Chapter 1

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" _Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent."_

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It's never been easy. No, not once — in not but _one_ instance — has he been content to play such devious games. But, after all, not many things about Ikuto's life are easy. No, his life is an upward struggle. A battle. A drain… But this…

This would never get any easier.

" _Useless!"_

Their cries are piercing and their voices shrill and with every undying, unhappy utterance Ikuto feels his will degrade — feels his resolve withering under the weight of their heart-wrenching wails — because he does not want to be the figure these dreams turn to to die, but it is no use.

He stands amidst the gloomy scene, feels his body turn numb with cold, and still these X-Eggs float lethargically on the breeze — _("Useless! Useless! Useless!")_ — and Ikuto wonders what might have been. What dreams wither on the wind tonight? What aspirations did these eggs once hold? How bright shone the eyes of the children who gave birth to them?

But it is irrelevant. It is done. It is—

" _Useless!"_

Their piercing cries rent the night and one by one they disappear, flying off to nowhere and vanishing into the shadows.

Ikuto's too tired to catch them.

Besides, he's surrounded by eggshells enough to last him a lifetime, for though these dreams might dissolve on the breeze and vanish into a thousand, glittering pieces, Ikuto still sees them all around him. He forever sees their dust on his hands; he thinks he hears them in the dead of night; he swears he sees them blocking out the light of the stars as they whizz off overhead…

And then he realises he is mistaken. There are no stars tonight. Nor any night, for that matter, for the sky is veiled in a purple haze.

But on those nights that the stars shine clear — that the heavens open up and bathe this darkened world in purest, gentle light — Ikuto looks up at the sky and can't help but think that they're still out there watching from a world above. He cannot see them, but he hears them. _Always_ he hears them, even as he wanders the night; as he strolls through secret places; even as he stands beneath the inky sky and weaves such music as to be worthy of a place amongst the constellations themselves.

But always it is sad. Always it is heavy — a sorrowful, heart-wrenching tune that blends in with the wail of the dying wishes…

Yet, _somehow_... Always it is _hopeful._

Because perhaps if he plays he might lighten the weight of those X's upon their hearts.

Perhaps if he plays he can lull them to sleep — let his music drift with them on the wind and ease their pain.

Perhaps they might understand his apology and maybe they will hear this heaviness in his heart and know he is repentant...

Perhaps if he plays _she_ will find him.

Perhaps someone will hear his soul singing out into the night and maybe, he thinks — just _maybe_ — that some small weight might finally be lifted from his shoulders, for when he plays nothing truly exists save the strings of his violin and the pouring of his own heart, flowing like a stream through his chest, welling in his fingertips, bursting forth and dancing off into the night on the rise and fall of this musical melody…

And so Ikuto plays.

Ikuto plays beneath the glow of the moon and the light of the stars and he fiddles away 'til his fingers are sore.

Because, he thinks, if he doesn't find some way to lift this burden soon… Perhaps his dream shall wither too.

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	2. Chapter 2

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It's almost surreal to see them after all this time.

Honestly, at first Ikuto was afraid that someone had followed him here. At first, he was almost convinced that someone from his unhappy past had appeared right out of the blue — was almost _terrified_ that perhaps his good-for-nothing sham of a stepfather had decided that he wasn't through with him yet —because, after all, one moment he'd just been happily through the backstreets of this little town and then the next—

" _Useless!"_

His skin bristles. A chill sweeps down his spine and, for a moment, Ikuto feels young again. For a fleeting, frightening few seconds he is back — back atop the tower of Easter; bound as the wavelengths of the tuning fork befuddle his brain, rent his heart, his body moving of its own accord whilst all around the cacophony grows in strength;

" _Useless! Useless!"_

And Ikuto is struck by panic, unable to move for some moments, utterly overcome by déjà-vu as he hears their chilling cries...

But... This is different, Ikuto reminds himself.

The present day comes flooding back and he remembers. It's almost evening. He's stood just outside of Lille. He's on his way to the border of Belgium and, though occasionally in his darkest dreams he might still wander back into that unwelcome well of memory, he is Easter's puppet no longer.

And yet, as the daylight fades and the night draws in, Ikuto can almost kid himself that he's walked straight back into that unfortunate era of his life…

Because in the street before him, three X-Eggs hover lightly off the ground, shrouded in a purple haze, and just as ever he hears them cry;

" _Useless!"_

Ikuto's heart sinks. Their voices are no less painful than before; their dim light no less forlorn; that murky aura no less saddening.

He cringes. Years' worth of torment flashes before his eyes. A lifetime of remorse weighs down upon his shoulders like the return of those unforgiving chains and the guilt is crushing — _crippling._ It pools in his stomach and twists his insides; it tugs at the strings of his heart; wreaks havoc in his head and stains his soul, for still diamond dust coats his hands. His skin feels saturated with the silvery blood of countless dreams. Ikuto stands on the spot and tries to fight that gnawing self-reproach…

But he cannot.

He feels like he has been here before. Oh, and it is true, he has faced these phantoms down way more times than he can count and, as Ikuto feels the weight of his father's violin on his back he is reminded of the devilry that Easter wrought upon it. He remembers now — standing stark beneath the moonlight, unable to move; some voice in his head calling out into the night; seeking dreams, _destroying_ them—

" _Useless!"_

Ikuto looks back at the trio of X-Eggs. He has felt their pain before.

But he is different now.

And if he can prove it… He will.

And so he does the only thing he can think of.

As ever, Ikuto takes his father's violin and plays. He conjures up a single makeshift melody on the spot, yet still it is intricate — still it is exquisite beyond description — and with every note he feels the shadows of his memory lift. A tranquil sort of bliss settles in his mind as the music flows throughout his soul. He _feels_ it — feels the blessed melody lift cleanse his spirit as pure and fresh as spring, as light and free as a running stream...

But this time, his tunes are not so sombre. This time, his masterpiece is not that melancholy sound that used to echo through the night. No, this time is is a peaceful tune — a soft, soothing lullaby that sets his spirit free. Nostalgia overwhelms him and in his head he sees images of clear night skies; watches heart's eggs soaring into the sky on glowing wings; he sees a flash of light — white and pure, gentle and comforting — and feels it radiate throughout his chest…

It is hopeful, yet no less heart-wrenching because his wish is still the same. His heart still aches.

And he is full of regret.

Ikuto stands beneath the cloudless sky and in his head his conscious _prays_ ;

' _Please…'_

He whispers;

' _Set them free…'_

The final note lingers like the last sliver of sunlight as it slips below the rooftops and echoes about the empty streets. Ikuto stops. He breathes…

The calm is blissful; the light is fading. Ikuto turns full on the spot, his mouth agape.

The X-Eggs are gone.

He instantly feels a pang of disappointment. He briefly thinks of those back home — of a girl with golden eyes and rose-coloured hair who might be able to help those desperate wishes them more than he until;

" _Thank you!"_

Ikuto whirls—

" _Thank you!"_

And immediately he feels like crying out in triumph.

The three heart's eggs are dancing like dragonflies on the breeze, bouncing joyfully above his head. They chirrup in voices light and cheery, wishing him thanks.

Their X's are gone.

They are free.

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 _BZZT!_

A world away, a phone buzzes to life in a darkened room. A muffled groan resounds somewhere from beneath a mound of blankets.

" _Amu-chan, Amu-chan!"_ squeaks a shrill, peppy voice. "You've got messages!"

Another groan. A squeak as the mattress shifts.

" _Amu-chaaaaan~!"_

" _Ran..._ It can wait til the morning…"

"I don't know…" Miki's adds in slyly. "It's from _Ikuto…"_

The squeaking stops. Beneath the bed sheets, Amu freezes. A long silence follows until—

"I-Idiot–! _It's two in the morning!"_

Blankets slide to the floor as Amu shoots bolt upright in bed, suddenly wide awake and blinking in the darkness, reaching blindly for her phone. She sighs. "I swear if it's another stupid riddle—!"

And she stops. Amu blinks, her mouth falling open. It's a simple picture, but… She can't believe it.

On the little screen is an image of Ikuto (self taken, no doubt, judging by the crappy angle) somewhere in a little French town. He's smiling an actual smile — one of those rare _real_ ones that warms her chest and makes his eyes sparkle like the light of a thousand constellations — but it's not that that has her speechless… No… It's _those._

Nestled snugly in his palm, sit three eggs. Pure heart's eggs. As white as snow and shimmering like stardust, still glowing in a cleansing light.

She glances over the caption;

' _And all this w/o a chara change ;)'_

"W- _Wha–?"_

"Did _Ikuto_ do that?" Suu asks, amazed.

Too lost for words, Amu can't even answer, but her heart skips a beat, her chest suddenly swelling with pride.

She can't begin to guess how much this means to him.

In the darkness, she grins.

"Go for it, Ikuto..!" she whispers.

 _'Cleanse as many as you can~!'_

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End file.
